


Of black cats and witches

by Cretlaw



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Geralt is resigned, Jaskier is ranting, Not Beta Read, Pandemics, Superstition, unless YOU wanna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cretlaw/pseuds/Cretlaw
Summary: "Tell me, Geralt, what do you think? Why do people believe that burning a witch will help but washing hands will not?" - Or: Geralt explains superstition
Kudos: 12





	Of black cats and witches

The market square of Gelvenbrugg was surprisingly large, surprisingly crowded, less surprisingly noisy and, completely unsurprisingly, reeked.  
Any map that actually shoved Gelvenbrugg had to be either a local or a rather accurate one but the little town, located between Rinde and the Kestrel Mountains, had only grown where it had thanks to the crossing of two roads. So maybe it was no wonder after all that trade was its main business.

Geralt kept to the middle of the sqaure, as far from the stalls and the surrounding jostle as possible.  
Jaskier followed him. 

The bard rather wondered that Geralt had chosen to ride across the market square at all. It was no secret that the Witcher hated markets. But the usual search for contracts at boards and rumor of monsters in taverns had been unsuccessful so maybe he was trying to snatch up something here.

“Powdered wyvern teeth! A pinch heals all diaeases! Smallpox, the plague, dysentery, rheumatism!”

Jaskier turned around in the saddle, searching for the voice. 

It was not difficult to spot the man who had called. He wore rather conspicuous robes, a wooden mask and kept promoting his goods in a loud voice. Jars and boxes of every size and form were stacked on the stall in front of him and snake skins, bundles of feathers and other charms were dangling from the roof.

“You there, Sir, you are looking frightfully pale!”, the healer – if he was one – called out to Geralt.  
“I got the fresh liver of a kikimore, an ounce will cure the yellow from your eyes and bring some colour to your face!”

Geralt rode on without so much as a glance in his direction.

Jaskier wasn’t sure if he shoud be surprised by that. Sure, the man was obviously a quack but even quacks needed help in aquiring their goods. Kikimores were not exactly threatened by extinction and surely Geralt wouldn’t turn down a potential contract simply because the client was an idiot. 

He resolved to aprroach the question carefully.

“Is it true that the powdered tooth of a wyvern can heal the plague?”, he inquired a soon as they were out of the merchant’s earshot.

“No. Wyvern teeth are venomous.”, Geralt said, still without turning around.

“I thought as much, “ Jaskier nodded. “And what about the kikimore liver?”

“A kikimore doesn’t have a liver. Whatever that guy is selling, it’s not that.”

That, at least, explained the lack of hope for a contract.

“Well,” Jaskier mused, “at least it will be of no harm then. The wyvern teeth, on the other hand, could kill someone. Why didn’t you tell him, Geralt?”, he asked, even though he suspected the answer.

“Because he knows,” returned Geralt, sounding unhurried, “He knoes that his wares are trash and he doesn’t care. Don’t worry, Jaskier, those wyvern teeth come from the snout of some pooch, grinded and mixed with a pinch of fisstech for the nice effect. He won’t poison his customers, that’s bad for business.”

“You’re probably right,” Jaskier sighed, “He will only scam them out of all their money and give them false hope.”

Geralt only hummed.

“Well, whoever is tricked by him, would have soon been out of money anyway.” Jaskier sniffed. “And the really poor ones probably can’t afford his services either way.”

He paused his monologue while they passed a particularily eager greengrocer. He preferred to safe his voice for competitions that were not solely about volume.

“The really poor ones”, he continued as soon as he could hear himself again, “go to the next priest, who tells them that the gods are angry with them. Then they will give him all their crops as offerings, self-flagellate, put a black cat on the stake, spit right and left whenever they hear an owl screech and burn a witch.”

Geralt made no remark. There was nothing to say.

“As if it wasn’t long known how diseases come to be,” Jaskier went on, unbothered as always by witcher’s silence, “Every medical student at Oxenfurt it taught that on day one. Shani explained to me, that pandemics are spread by germs, little creatures that are so small that they’re invisible.”

Geralt glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.

“It’s true!”, Jaskier said defensively, interpreting the glance as doubt.“If they land on your face because someone coughs at you or you shake hands with a sick person and then use the same hand to grab food, you get ill. It helps to wash hands. Carefully, with soap. And to avoid being sneezed at.”

“Have the people who tried that method all miraculously remained healthy?”, Geralt asked.

“Of course not.” Jaskier replied tartly, “Because it is no miracle. But there have been fewer infections. And at least washing hands is not going to hurt anyone, you have to admit that much.”

“Hmm”

They had reached the end of the market and Geralt directed Roach towards the town’s gates.

“But of course, people rather keep on whipping themselves and burning cats and witches than actually listen to reason, or, gods forbid, science.” Jaskier was quite agitated now.

They left the town. On the road, Jaskier let Pegasus trod next to Roach and continued the conversation.

“Tell me, Geralt, what do you think? Why do people believe that burning a witch will help but washing hands will not?”

He had not really expected an answer and was surprised when he got one.

“That’s simple”, said Geralt in his usual, calm manner. “They don’t. Not really, at least. But it gives them the feeling to that they're doing something. And if nothing else, they can at least believe in the witch.  
Your germs are invisible. You can’t see them, you can’t hear them, you can’t touch them and you can’t burn them either. If someone washes hands and still dies of the plague later, it’s clear that they never existed in the first place.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest but Geralt apparently wanted to speak for once and didn’t let himself be interrupted.

“But the witch exists. She may only be a retarded girl, or a herbalist with a funny wart, if people were creative again, but she is there. You can see her, you can hear her scream, the sheriff raped her so it has to be possible to touch her as well and she burns just like cinder.  
If the plague is still there after that it simply was the wrong witch. At least the mob will have had a nice bonfire. That warms their tired bones an makes them feel like they’ve really made an effort. Washing hands, Jaskier, is not enough of a spectacle.”

Clearly, Jaskier had underestimated how bitter Geralt could be.

“Your compassion and your general trust in the nature of humans never cease to amaze me”, Jaskier remaked dryly, “but what I said about germs is true.”

“Maybe”, Geralt conceded calmly. “I’m a witcher. I don’t get ill and I don’t know much about diseases either. Germs are not listed in any witcher bestiary I’ve read but admittedly they don’t sound like something you would fight with a blade either.”

He looked up at the sky where grey clouds were gathering.

“As for my general trust in the nature of humans” he finally said, slowly, “Kaer Morhen… once was that kind of witch, too.”

Jaskier swallowed.  
‘And you all were the black cats’, he thought, but said nothing.  
They travelled on in silence for quite a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier does have a horse named Pegasus at some point (I think in "Time of Contempt"), so I took the liberty of letting it appear here.


End file.
